Will, Cliff (both above), and I recorded this song in one take in late 1999. Though, calling it a “take” is overstating it. We were beyond silly drunk and lacked any talent for the task, but we had a mic in front of us, a guitar, and a willingness to open our mouths and let something — anything — fly out.
It wasn’t until Will said “This song is called Nukerator” that we knew what we were supposed to be singing about. We’d never sketched any of it out, or even discussed it. This was truly stream of consciousness, so as bad as it is, there’s also something endearing about it (well, at least to us).
Putting together the pieces from that night, we named our ad-hoc band “More Equipment Than Talent.” We’ve tried since to repeat the feat — the ingredients seemed easy enough — but we’ve had little success. Infighting, artistic differences, and a reasonable interest in raising the quality of our work have limited our efforts, but when this song appeared out of the blue the other day while iTunes was on random, I knew it was time to share.
Note: while listening to it last again night to get the lyrics, I realized there are a few lines about school violence that may be offensive to some today. The context, I hope, gives it the correct meaning.
Lyrics:
Will: This song is called Nukerator.
Cliff: No it’s not.
Cliff: What’s with you and f-major 7?
Casey: This is a song about a microwavable instant cook world. We live in this world, this over-abled world.
Casey: We got Cheez Whiz, we’ve got tacos, we got salsa, we got snack cakes, we got pizza feets. We’ve got everything we want.
Cliff: It’s a world of excess.
Casey: And it goes in the microwave and we eat it in five minutes. Cook it on 75% power, just throw it in the nukerator, just cook it now.
Casey: A Solitary, confined sort-of-life between the refrigerator, and the microwave, and the Walmart. The Super Walmart with the superstore. The food products, the pasteurized processed cheese spread. the stuff I eat from the microwave after five minutes.
Cliff: It’s meaningless. It’s meaningless
Will: Nukerator. We’re nukrawavable. Nukerator.
Casey: Microwave, my cell phone, my pager. It’s my modern world and I love it.
Cliff: We find it only makes us fat.
Casey: My microwave fries the dynabites, and the cell phone fries my head. And I talk about it all day long. Meaningless
Cliff: It’s a world of excess.
Casey: The average conversation on a cell phone goes like this: Hello, I’m here, I’ll be there later, no, I’m going there next.
Cliff: It’s a world of excess.
Casey: Meanwhile, driving my SUV, I drive through the school house, drive down all the kids, drive down the one with the gun who was gonna kill them all because he couldn’t stand it.
Cliff: Hello, I’m helping your environment. What can I do next?
Casey: I didn’t even realize it because I was on my phone with my counselor, who was fixing my hair. I didn’t understand it. My microwave was broken and my cheeze couldn’t be warmed. Just five minutes at 75% power.
Cliff: I hold no responsibility myself. I only put the responsibility on the head of my counselor. She has it all for herself. I don’t what I’m trying to say, but I don’t have any responsibility today. Will dropped his pick, it’s not his fault. He takes it in his hands. I’ll grab it for him…
Casey: I live in a microwavable, able world. A world of isolation and communication. False pretense, false friendships.
Cliff: Long hair is European, short hair is American.
At this point, Will and I looked at eachother and realized it’d gone too far. Sorry to all that we realized it so late.
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